


This Might As Well Happen

by Ace_Engineer



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batman In Name Only, Gen, I Gave Chancer a Name, I'm new at this tagging thing, POV First Person, Starring John Mulaney as the Riddler, This Needs More Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ace_Engineer/pseuds/Ace_Engineer
Summary: There needs to be more "John Mulaney as the Riddler" fanfic. So, I wrote some. In one day. With no editing.I tried to write this in Mulaney's "comedy routine" voice. Maybe it worked out?Edit: Got the inspired by section working!
Comments: 32
Kudos: 380





	This Might As Well Happen

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Black-Clad Bats and Making Money](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720802) by [Gray_Days](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Days/pseuds/Gray_Days). 



“You like making money?”

I did, in fact, like making money. Money is good because you can buy things with it. Like cocaine, or a bagel.

I looked over at the surprisingly charitable owner of the pizzeria. Guy was big. That guy was like, an estranged Hemsworth. Looked like he had a side job as a bouncer at the Jiggly Disco.

So, staring at this testosterone fueled hunk of man, I managed to squeak out a “yes, I do.”

He nodded.

“Good. Dekker got tied up, so we’re a man short.”

And hey, if they’re a man short, am I a short man!

So after I had lunch, the guy introduced himself as Chacha. Weird, but who am I to judge? My name sounds like the outcry of someone who just stepped in something unfortunate.

Anyway, Chacha showed me to the back room, where he introduced Walker and Blake. Walker was showing off his fashion skills with a purple hoodie and striped leggings, while poor Blake looked like he had just gotten off his job as the mascot of frequent urination. He was wearing a cape, but I didn’t have enough craps to give because hiding underneath the cape was a rather large cat. In Gotham? Was that even allowed? That thing looked like it weighed more than me!

“So? Who’s this guy, Chacha?” Walker asked.

I was this guy. I had also not introduced myself to Chacha. Everyone turned to look at me, which sounds like a bad thing, but when you add in the fact that my blood pressure is so high by this point it’s a wonder that Herophilus hadn’t come down from the pantheon to yeet me some leeches.

I struggled to think of a reasonable name. As nice and friendly as Chacha had been about this whole ‘free money’ business, I didn’t especially want them to be able to find me again.

“Eeehhhhh…..Ligma?”

“Nygma? I like it!” Blake said. “So, I should probably mention. During the hit, call me Catman.” He turned slightly to pet the large cat behind him.

Wait, what?

Another guy entered the backroom. He was greeted with calls of “Day! Hey man.”

Day wore a lot of red. He seemed to think numbered shoulder pads were in vogue, as well.

“What’d I miss?” Day asked.

Chacha clapped the man on the back, which seemed inadvisable. The man had a cape made of pieces of paper taped together.

“Not too much. I found us a new guy, Nygma. He’ll _chance_ his luck with the Batman while we handle the hit. Isn’t that right, Nygma?”

“Yeahhh,” I said, with all the confidence of a tourist in a Gotham back alley. I realized that this didn’t seem like a “free money” kind of deal, at all.

Day held out a hand. “Nice, Nygma. I’m Calendar Man.”

Oh my.

Chacha nodded. “And I’m Chancer.” Suddenly, his white shirt emblazoned with two dice didn’t seem like a knock-off Dominos logo.

I turned to Walker. His “costume” looked vague familiar.

“Mothman?” I guessed.

He threw up his hands. “No!” he cried to the heavens. “Nooo! I’m Killer Moth.”

Oh me oh my. Here I was, awkwardly standing around in the backroom of a pizzeria, with four of the most badly dressed members of the Rogue’s Gallery.

So I sat down on a box of—I dunno, flour or C4 or something—and listened to the Misfits as they finalized their plan to…add a new holiday to the calendar? They were currently arguing other whether it should be cat themed or moth themed.

“What about tiger moths?”

Everyone turned to look at me. Oops. I continued.

“Tiger moths. They’re, like, both cats and moths, right?”

Killer Moth and Catman turned to look at each other. They shrugged.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Calendar Man put his head in his hands. “Now that _that’s_ settled, is everyone clear on the plan?”

“Um.” I blinked. I was not, in fact, clear on the plan. “I’m getting money for this, right?”

Chacha clapped me on the back, guffawing as he knocked me off of my boxy perch.

“Of course, Nygma! Assuming you distract the Batman long enough for us to do our thing, and you don’t get arrested in the process.”

I was having second thoughts by this point, but what could I do? It’s not like I could just say “I’m totally not turning you guys into the GCPD” and walk off. I’d never be able to buy pizza here again!

But how was I going to distract the leather-clad vigilante of Gotham? I had the martial arts skill of your average fifth grader, and I’d rather not be freed from my mortal flesh balloon.

Maybe I could dress up a mannequin and be like “Hey, Bat! Look at this Polka-Dot Man! Go, fetch!”

That could confuse him long enough for me to run away, right? Wait, confuse… I could confuse him! Every two-bit criminal in Gotham had some sort of crazy theme, right? Just look at Calendar Man! If I picked a bizarre enough bit, I would be so nonsensical to the man cosplaying as his favorite mammal that I could make a getaway before he recovers.

“I’m going to need some stuff.” I said. “Like, a hundred bucks and a spotlight.”

“Oh, I have a spotlight you can borrow!” Catman chimed in. Of course he did.

So the next day I was cruising through secondhand stores, looking for the most garish outfit. Soon enough, I had a bright green suit jacket, purple metallic pants, a cane, and a Christmas ornament shaped like a question mark, which fit because I was very confused. In a remarkable show of good luck, I also found a cool bowler hat and a bright purple tie that was _almost_ the same color as the pants. My outfit was complete.

I tried to tie the ornament onto my new hat, but after an hour of work it only looked like I lost a fight to silly string, so I grabbed a glue gun and slapped the ornament on my cane.

Then, Catman helped me use the pizzeria’s dolly to carry his spotlight over to a random rooftop. I proceeded to play arts and crafts the rest of the afternoon, until eventually I had covered the light in construction paper, cut into the shape of a lopsided question mark. By this point, “general confusion at the world” was going to be my villain schtick.

My mission of the day accomplished, I went back to my apartment and started planning chaos.

The next day, I had several pieces of paper to plant throughout Gotham, and approximately two winks of sleep. The hit was going to happen tonight.

The safest way to distract the Batman, I figured, was giving him a treasure hunt before hiding in my apartment with the lights off.

The first place he would investigate, I assumed, would be the origin of the giant question mark spotlight in the sky. I took the city bus back over there and planted the first note.

_I have the most stories in Gotham. What am I?_

I had Chancer travel to the public library to tape the next note on a gargoyle.

_I am a celebrity with a lot of children. Who am I?_

Catman agreed to sneak over to Bruce Wayne’s manor and slip the next paper into the man’s mailbox.

_I go here to chill. Where am I?_

Lastly, Killer Moth dropped his note on the roof of the Penguin’s Iceberg Lounge.

_[address]. Please, Batman, go here and tell me. How am I?_

On my way back to my apartment, I stopped by an abandoned warehouse—the destination of the address—and dropped a photo of me decked out in my new suit. I went home.

“There,” I said to myself. “That should keep him confused.” I locked my door, had dinner, turned off the lights, and washed the plates in the dark.

I then realized.

Nobody turned on the spotlight.

It was at this point in my life that I had two choices, you see. Choice one is running out into the night, sneaking _back_ onto the rooftop of a building that I wasn’t even sure I could find after dark, turn on a giant beacon to my location, and book it before the Man of Bats jumped me.

Choice two is pretending I had never made shady financial deals with a man named Chacha and wait for the night I get shot in an alley.

I did not like these choices.

Half an hour later, I had finally found the spotlight again. I fumbled around in the dark until I figured out how to turn it on. Finally, the bright light of my impending doom shone out over the buildings of Gotham. I hastily aimed the thing up at the clouds and ran down the fire escape faster than a child running towards something shiny and dangerous before they can hear the voice of parental authority shouting “No!”

Three blocks down, I caught sight of a shadowy caped man jumping across the rooftops in the vague direction of the glowing beginning to a chaotic side quest.

I pulled my purple pants up past my feminine hips and booked it.

And that’s how I managed to become the up and coming Gotham villain, the Riddler, using nothing but poor fashion sense, stupid notes, and my inability to say no.

I’m not sure Gothamites even noticed the new Tiger Moth Celebration Day.


End file.
